


long is the road that leads me home

by arklaygothic (clockworkcorvids)



Series: try your whole life to be righteous and be good [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crushes, Developing Relationship, Everyone Is Gay, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Game: Resident Evil 2, Game: Resident Evil 3 Nemesis, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Chris Redfield, Pining, Post-Resident Evil 2, Post-Resident Evil 3, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips, Survivor Guilt, chris needs to learn how to answer his phone, leon is so unimaginably tired, sherry and her four (4) adopted parents, wesker is functionally 'dead'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23087950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clockworkcorvids/pseuds/arklaygothic
Summary: After a close shave with death, Chris and the others leave Raccoon City to seek out Rebecca Chambers. Along the way. Chris has some realizations.
Relationships: Chris Redfield & Claire Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy & Chris Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy & Claire Redfield, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Rebecca Chambers & Chris Redfield, Rebecca Chambers & Claire Redfield, Sherry Birkin & Chris Redfield, Sherry Birkin & Claire Redfield, Sherry Birkin & Leon S. Kennedy
Series: try your whole life to be righteous and be good [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655023
Comments: 21
Kudos: 96
Collections: Prompt Challenge





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from [cold is the night](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EDdV_x513dc) by the oh hellos
> 
> make sure you read part 1 of this series before reading this!! <3  
> also, i've fallen into another rarepair, which is claire and rebecca! in the interest of not making this fic too long, im going to be starting writing that in part 3. the main focus is still chreon, tho :3c
> 
> enjoy! c:

_1 new voicemail._

_1: September 30, 1998. 22:43._

_Hey Chris, it’s Rebecca! I hope you’re doing alright. I heard you’re back in Raccoon City. My advice? Get the hell out of there as quickly as you can. You and whoever else you might have picked up―Jill mentioned that Claire has been looking for you. I know you probably think it’s your duty to stick around, but the best thing we can do as STARS members is take care of ourselves so we’re in good enough shape to keep helping others. And…be careful. Jill said there’s another Tyrant, or maybe something worse, stalking her. She said it wants to kill all STARS members. Anyways, if you need a place to stay, you know where to find me._

* * *

They made it halfway to the gas station before Chris collapsed, and he was starting to think that going outside in Raccoon City meant stepping into a dangerous sort of liminal space. There were barred doors and boarded windows, and then there were the remnants of the rain from a night―now two nights―before and zombies clogging the streets. As the story went, Leon and Claire had both left their respective vehicles at the gas station, panicking and stealing a police cruiser, but now they weren’t left with many better options. Once Claire and Leon, having heard Rebecca’s voicemail, had convinced Chris that leaving Raccoon City was the best course of action, neither of them had wanted to return to the RPD’s parking garage, and Chris didn’t miss the way Leon gingerly aimed his gun as their ragged little group inched through the fiery streets, eyeing every overturned car as if it might explode.

Oddly, Chris was touched, not just because this was a very real possibility. No, he was all too aware of his heartbeat jackhammering when a small explosion went off just down an alley from the group, not thinking so much as _feeling_ how close it had been, and what could have happened if it had been a bit closer―to himself, or worse, to any of the others.

(He didn’t put himself first these days; he couldn’t, not after what had happened at Spencer Mansion, not after Wesker had shown the rest of STARS what happened when you really, truly, put yourself before everyone and everything else. Chris knew there was a healthy balance, but he hadn’t found it yet.)

Evidently, though, Leon recognized what Chris was feeling; perceived his fear, and didn’t judge it. This wasn’t something Chris was used to, but it was...strangely welcome. 

Especially when the numbing effect of almost two entire cans of first aid spray began to wear off, hot and sharp pain blooming under the bandages that had been haphazardly wrapped around his abdomen, and his knees gave out right in the street before he could get even a single word out of his mouth. Only a pained groan came out, and he found himself kneeling, squinting off into the distance at the _Welcome to Raccoon City_ sign.

“Home of Umbrella,” he grumbled, the words slurred and choppy all at once.

He focused his gaze back on closer things, and was met with all three of his companions crouched around him. In the middle of the highway, too, not that there had been any cars through here since Claire and Leon’s original entrance two nights prior. It was October now, and maybe it was just his brain conjuring up things he wanted to believe, but he swore he could feel some sort of fresh bite to the air.

Leon glanced sidelong at Claire, and they shared some sort of look that Chris couldn’t read the meaning behind. Claire rose, somewhat unsteady, and drew Sherry to her feet too. Leon, meanwhile, pointedly chose not to react to Chris’ continued grumbling, instead holstering his gun and singing one of Chris’ arms over his shoulders. One of Leon’s hands, still clad in those stupid gloves that really should have been introduced to a garbage can ages ago, came up to grip Chris’ far shoulder. The other wrapped around his wrist, and tugged the taller man against Leon’s side.

“I’m fine,” Chris mumbled, jaw awkwardly pushed against one of Leon’s shoulders.

“No, you’re not,” Leon said with no hesitation, his voice audibly strained from the effort of supporting Chris’ weight, “you shouldn’t be standing up right now. You’re worse than a damn anemic, and you need to lie down until your heart can pump blood without it all spilling out of your side.”

“That’s not how that works, but he does need to sit down” Claire muttered quietly, followed by something incomprehensible that involved the mumbled words _aorta_ and _unconsciousness_ , and Chris wondered if she’d been hanging around Rebecca sometime since July.

“C’mon, Chris,” Leon hissed through clenched teeth, tugging gently but firmly on his torso, “we’ve gotta keep going.”

Chris, for his part, was too lightheaded to come up with much in the line of a response, so he just sort of grunted back at Leon.

“You’re not infected with T-Virus, at least I fucking -” 

“ _Language_ ,” Sherry proclaimed in a sing-song voice, to which Claire replied by sighing deeply and clapping a hand on the child’s shoulder.

“―I _hope_ you aren’t, so stop f―stop grunting at me.” Leon paused, and his voice became softer, more apologetic. “You don’t need to talk at all if it hurts you, alright? Don’t push yourself.”

Claire and Sherry had already begun to walk, mostly for the benefit of Sherry, who couldn’t seem to keep herself still. Deep down, even through his resurfacing delirium, Chris knew some of that was just typical childlike energy, but he could also see the fight-or-flight instinct she carried with her at all times. He’d carried that for years, now, since he was young, and he’d seen it in Claire when she had been even younger―around Sherry’s age. For an adult, it was endlessly painful and horrible. For a child? It was all that, and so much worse too.

Chris adjusted his posture to the extent that he even could, shifting so he wasn’t dragging beside Leon like a body bag so much as stumbling and tripping along as a zombie might. 

Well. 

He hoped he was a little more coordinated than a zombie.

It was still nighttime, must have been one or two in the morning―nobody had bothered to check―and the fires burning in Raccoon City began to slowly recede in the distance as the still-invisible gas station came closer. It was a bright night, though, what with all the fire, and waiting until the morning to pack up and leave hadn’t been a risk any of them had wanted to take.

The beam of a flashlight bounced ahead of them, held in Sherry’s hand. Her other hand, occasionally illuminated by the swinging light, was clasped in Claire’s, and Claire held aloft her pistol. Behind the two, Leon somehow managed to stay strong and steadfast the entire time despite quite literally trembling with fear and exhaustion and Chris didn’t even know what else. 

Chris’ jaw remained pressed up against Leon’s shoulder this entire time, albeit somewhat less painfully now, and he had to admit it wasn’t a terrible arrangement. He just hoped he’d be able to get some sleep soon.

* * *

Miraculously, both Claire’s Harley and Leon’s Jeep were still intact, right where they’d been left. Less miraculously, the gas station was still overrun with zombies. 

Chris wasn’t sure whether to be terrified or impressed when Sherry dropped Claire’s hand and respectfully took a few steps back to let Claire take a grenade launcher―a fucking _grenade launcher_ , of all things, had been what she’d had strapped to her back―to the horde. 

He could name at _least_ six things off the top of his head that were horribly and incredibly improbable about this situation, but then again, the whole zombie apocalypse thing was pretty much the dictionary definition of _improbable_ , so the bar had already been low. 

(And on the flip side, when had corporate greed ever been improbable? Money and power as motivators were the same, if you asked Chris: as predictable as the revolution of the Earth around the Sun.)

Claire beelined for her bike like a moth to a flame the second she deemed her surroundings as safe as they were going to get, Sherry awkwardly trailing behind her. There was no way Chris was letting the kid get on that bike, though, and Claire recognized this as Sherry approached the Harley, gently turning her away from it. 

“It’s not safe for you,” she said, “you’re going to have to go with Leon and Chris.”

Leon and Chris, at Claire’s proclamation, turned to look at each other. Their faces were awkwardly close together. Chris could feel the way Leon was holding his breath. 

And the moment was over. 

“Okay, cool,” Leon said, hoisting Chris upwards yet again as if he were, in fact, a body bag (or better yet, just a straight-up corpse). “Everybody pile in. We’re getting the hell out of this city.”

Chris was nothing if not stubborn, but by now, he had long since accepted the fact that he was going to leave Raccoon City tonight―this morning? For him, there wasn’t much of a process to easing himself into this change in plans that made him and his deep-set sense of duty (tightly intertwined with self-deprecation, which was yet another thing he had Wesker to thank for) so uneasy. Instead, he just fought back against it until he lost the energy to do so for any longer, and then he accepted the fact that it might be best to leave, and he resigned himself to the decision that, if he was going to do it, he was going to _commit_. No half-assing.

He didn’t realize he’d zoned out, lost to his thoughts, until he fell roughly back into reality again, involuntarily letting out a heavy exhalation as his back slumped against something firm but soft and― _ah._ It was a car seat. He was being manhandled, in the gentlest and most uncharacteristic sense of the word, into the back of Leon’s Jeep. His boots crunched on receipts and, as he shifted into the most comfortable position he could find, the familiar shape of a beer can rolled up against one foot. 

Chris nudged it under the front seat as he leaned against the nearest solid surface, which happened to be the car door. It was closed and locked, thank fuck. He almost began to let himself fall asleep, the combined fatigue of his injuries and sleep deprivation finally catching up with him again, but forced his eyes to stay open, even as his eyelashes fluttered heavily against his cheekbones and his jaw twitched in a yawn. 

A moment later, another presence came into his little bubble of personal space and awareness, someone else climbing into another seat, a respectful distance away from him. Sprawled out such as Chris was, trying to keep himself in a position where his injuries wouldn’t bother him too much and he’d also generally be comfortable, he was probably taking up at least half the back seat of the Jeep. Sherry didn’t seem to mind, though, as he glanced tiredly over at her. She was exhausted too, clearly, but was avoiding leaning into the corner between the seat and the door closest to her. Her gaze was fixed on something outside that Chris couldn’t make out from this angle, and it became clear what a moment later as the door on her side of the Jeep opened to reveal Claire. Chris felt sort of...warm, almost― _safe_ , almost―as she smiled at both of them, wrapping her arms around Sherry and simultaneously reaching further into the Jeep to clap a hand down on Chris’ outstretched knee.

“I love you,” she said to both of them, “stay safe.”

Chris let his head fall back against the seat, flashing a weak thumbs up. He would have given her a bit more fanfare, if not for the fact that he was on the verge of falling asleep due to sheer exhaustion, and it would have hurt far too much to move in any way that mattered, and he knew they would reunite soon, somewhere further along the road.

Well, he hoped they would―he refused to believe they _wouldn’t_ ―and he forced this conviction to the forefront of his mind as the door shut, and Leon climbed into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, and casually threw one arm over the gap between the front seats to twist around and look back at Chris and Sherry. Chris could practically feel Leon’s hand as if his own shoulder were the side of the passenger side that the younger man had in his grip.

“Can I sleep yet?” Chris slurred, half joking.

Leon looked so apologetic, so _pained_ by seeing Chris’ suffering, that Chris couldn’t even fully absorb his response.

“I was hoping you could give some directions, but Claire _did_ say she was going to take the lead.”

For a moment, not putting together the (upon closer inspection, not very surprising) pieces, Chris was confused as to how Claire knew how to find Rebecca, but then again, they’d briefly met before he’d left for Europe, and knowing Claire, she’d probably contacted every member of STARS she could find to track him down.

“Get some sleep, both of you,” Leon said earnestly, leaning a little further over the seats so as to clearly meet Chris’ gaze. He was still bright-eyed, clinging to the last shreds of hope he could―and weren’t they all?―but even with four fewer years of life to his name, his dark circles might have been worse than Chris’.

The familiar, comforting sound of a motorcycle engine revving up was quickly followed by the growl, hum and buzz of the Jeep. As he began to drift off into a tender slumber―tender in both the gentle sense and the painful sense―Chris became aware of Sherry stretching herself out horizontally over the seats, head coming to rest on his chest, one arm draped over his knees. He was thankful that she hadn’t put her weight anywhere near his wound, but he was even more thankful for this unprecedented gesture of trust. He almost didn’t know what to do with it, but he still instinctively remembered such gestures from his childhood, carried over from the good years into the bad, starting as normalcy, becoming coping mechanisms, and then eventually fading back into normalcy yet again as the state of things became gradually less terrible. 

Chris registered two final things before he fell asleep: his hand finding Sherry’s shoulder, and Leon humming some [odd melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_Lo1iVBuJE) Chris swore he’d heard before.

* * *

Chris dreamed that he was in a dark hallway. He walked. The hallway kept going. He kept walking. The hallway continued. The walls dripped blood, and somehow this was not a jarring observation. Chris didn’t see where all the blood was going, and in that strange dream state of mind, he didn’t bother to question it. He just kept walking, towards the oncoming figure kneeling on the ground―a dark blur, outlined in fluorescent light. The bank’s high marble ceilings glared down at Chris, and then the ceiling of the RPD’s main hall. The lights remained the same white of a gas station at night.

The figure on the ground was coughing up blood. A hand on their chest, another splayed on the floor. Something crunched beneath Chris’ boots as he stepped closer, and he bent to find that shattered glass lay haphazardly across the floor.

The figure looked up. It was Wesker. There was a red glow in his sunglasses, something primal. Inhuman. A metal bar protruded from his side as he stood, the same as that which Chris had been impaled with, in the exact same spot, leaving the exact same scars. 

There was shattered glass on Chris’ tongue. It had the texture of ice. He staggered backwards, distressed despite his dream self’s inability to be confused by what, to his unconscious mind, seemed like a perfectly rational and normal progression of ideas.

Even a dream, or a nightmare, or whatever the hell this was, could only rationalize so much. 

Chris woke up, heart racing, palms sweaty, feeling perturbed and confused and altogether very unshakably  _ wrong _ , to the Jeep braking nearly hard enough to throw him against the back of the driver’s seat.

“S’happening?” he managed, voice weak and quiet―at least he didn’t wake Sherry, he thought as he noticed that the girl was still fast asleep next to him―and thankfully, Leon understood what he meant. 

Leon’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. They were also cracked and bruised, and Chris was already making plans to buy Leon a nice new pair of fingerless gloves and possibly some Vaseline when they got out of this―that was a  _ when _ , not an  _ if _ . 

“There’s a blockade on the exit,” he said, voice low. “Crashed cars. Zombies. Claire’s bike can fit through, but not us. We’re going to have to take the next exit and loop around.”

Something settled in Chris’ throat, a sensation uncomfortably close to that of his dream self swallowing the pieces of the glass that had once been in Wesker’s leg. Beyond his own heart pounding in his ears, he made out the sound of a bike revving, and stopping, and then Leon rolled down the driver’s seat window. 

Chris wasn’t paying attention as Claire confirmed what Leon had suggested a moment before. Her lips moved, and Chris could hear sounds come out, but the words meant nothing to him. He was watching his sister’s eyes, sad and scared and angry, and understanding everything she was feeling, and wishing for a reprieve, no matter how momentary.

She met his eyes. Her searching gaze passed over Sherry, still sound asleep, and Chris was introduced to the striking duality of Claire’s expression both hardening and softening at the same time. Damn, he’d missed her. 

“Take care of Sherry,” Claire said, directed at both of them. Then, looking at Leon: “and you take care of Chris.”

Chris couldn’t help but smirk. He knew if he got even a little more injured, just a scratch, Claire would go absolutely wild on Leon―yes, he was a member of STARS, but he was also her brother. He could only imagine what she’d do if Sherry got hurt.

Leon grinned back at him, and then reached out to give Claire a fist bump. 

“I will,” he said, and he was smirking, but Chris got the feeling he was serious. 

Sherry shifted in her sleep as the car started again, and Chris wrapped his arm around her shoulders, hoping that he wouldn’t have to watch, helpless, as terror unfolded before him.

* * *

The analog clock on Leon’s dashboard blinked white at Chris, out of the darkness, telling him that it was nearly three in the morning. He had to remember on his own that it was October 1st, 1998, but he hadn’t fallen asleep again after passing the blockade, so the thought had stayed in his mind. The thing that had drawn him out of his peaceful near-slumber, though, was Sherry trying, and struggling, but eventually succeeding, to sit up. She elected not to move away from Chris, still leaning half against his front and half against his side, but her gaze flicked quickly around the Jeep, confusion clear in her body language even though Chris couldn’t see her expression in this light.

“Where’s Claire?” she asked. 

Leon, who had been staring ahead for some unknown amount of time―and it occurred to Chris in this moment that he probably should have struck up a conversation at some point, if only to keep Leon as the driver from passing out on the road―snapped back into awareness.

“There was a car crash near the exit we were supposed to take. The road was blocked. Claire went through that way so she could find Rebecca more quickly, but the Jeep couldn’t fit through, so we had to take the long way around.”

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be fine,” Leon said, voice low. The sound of the highway, of the Jeep rumbling on the tarmac, brought back old memories to the forefront of Chris’ mind, of long nights on the road, slipping between consciousness and sleep, and occasionally into something else altogether, leaning against his sister, the two of them too young and too exhausted to know or care about much more than their destination. 

Chris gently squeezed Sherry’s shoulder. “We’re going to meet up with her once we get off the exit, and the four of us are going to meet Rebecca Chambers. She’s one of my colleagues, about Claire’s age. She’s a biochemistry genius, and―” this directed at Leon “―she was at Spencer Mansion. I wouldn’t have lived through that without her.”

Sherry’s wide eyes were illuminated momentarily by the passing brightness of floodlights as Leon pulled into the rightmost lane of the highway, a green-and-white exit sign flashing by. He slowed on the exit ramp, and Chris got the feeling that he wasn’t obeying traffic laws so much as trying to make sure he didn’t inadvertently crash into. This far from Raccoon City, the road was empty of all traffic, probably the result of some governmental response to the crisis that the group just hadn’t caught wind of yet, but Leon had stopped tallying zombies and muttering “bingo” every time he hit a count of five quite a while ago.

Their surroundings began to become more and more familiar as they entered the city, but Chris couldn’t be bothered to absorb more than what he could make out through one window. Part of him wanted to see what, if anything, had changed, but part of him wanted to keep believing that the outbreak hadn’t spread beyond Raccoon City.

The plan to have Claire navigate had been foiled, though, as exemplified a moment later by Leon pulling over to the side of the road and yet again turning around in his seat with a sigh.

“I know you need your rest, but I don’t know this place,” Leon said. “Can you just...do this one thing? Help me out a little?”

It was Chris’ turn to sigh now, but he struggled to maneuver himself into a sitting position (pointedly doing so without pushing Sherry away from her comfortable spot), and twisted to stare out the window closest to him.

“Sure,” he said, closing his eyes for a moment, letting his bone-deep exhaustion and the dull ache of his not-yet-fully healed wound dance across his skull, stars against the warm darkness of his eyelids. 

“You’re going to want to take a left up here,” he said as Leon pulled back onto the road. It wasn’t completely empty despite the time of night and the greater situation at hand, but there were no pedestrians, and only the occasional car. People were scared, and rightfully so, and they weren’t being given enough information to sate that fear. Even if they had all the information, even if the truth about Umbrella got out, it would probably just make things worse. And...Chris? He didn’t want to dwell on that right now, so he focused on the comforting warmth of another person leaning on him (another person, relying on him for that same comfort, like he and his sister always had), and he focused on remembering the route to the apartment Rebecca had co-opted from an old friend after Spencer Mansion so she’d have a place to get away from Umbrella and research the T-Virus without interference, and he focused on Leon’s hands still gripping the steering wheel as strongly and carefully as ever despite the way he must have been slipping towards unconsciousness himself by now.

Chris somehow managed not to fall asleep, mumbling the directions to Leon. He almost physically felt a weight taken off his chest, the relief was so strong, when they pulled into a sparsely occupied parking lot behind an apartment building, and he spotted Claire’s bike a few spaces away, almost completely obscured by shadows. 

From there, he just sort of stumbled out of the Jeep, and he was only vaguely aware of Leon’s arms around his shoulders again, holding him up, pulling him together for one last burst of energy before he could finally let himself collapse and just  _ rest _ . Sherry trailed along beside them, lightly holding Chris’ dangling hand in her own, and there was something so pure and  _ innocent _ about the gesture―hell, about Sherry  _ herself _ ―that made Chris want to burst into tears on the spot. He thought, for what must have been the hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours, that she really deserved better than this. It just made him hate Umbrella more, but he knew even in this state of mind that hatred wasn’t going to get him anywhere, so he doubled back around and thought about how grateful he was that Sherry had Claire and Leon, and now him too, and how grateful he was that  _ he _ had all of them. Rebecca, too; she was like another little sister to Chris, and he didn’t know what he would ever do without her.

Claire was already waiting with Rebecca, and Chris only had a moment to wonder about the way both of them, in their individual and collective body language, seemed to be so comfortable and familiar with each other, before he was being enveloped in an extremely careful hug. Rebecca was darting around, then, muttering something about how delirious Chris was, and he was being guided to a bed―an actual, real bed, with a mattress and soft pillows, and he swore he might have started crying a little as Leon laid him down with as much grace as the smaller man could muster. 

“Thanks,” Chris wheezed, smiling up at Leon. 

Leon’s face was a cocktail of amusement, concern, exasperation, and fondness as he sat on the edge of the bed, at Chris’ side. Either Chris was already hallucinating again, or Leon was just feeling particularly brave tonight, because a moment later, he reached out to cup Chris’ jaw in one hand, and gently ran a thumb over one stubble-lined cheek. Despite the cracks and bruises his knuckles had endured, and the calluses on his palm from what must have been months or maybe even years of gun training, his hands were remarkably soft. Maybe Chris was just tired, too.

“You need new gloves,” Chris slurred, and Leon snorted out loud, withdrawing his hand from Chris’ face. Chris missed the contact immediately, and he wasn’t sure how much of it was his general need for human affection and how much was just the fact that it was Leon.

“You need rest,” Leon retorted, somehow making the comment sound both snarky and endearing all at once. He patted Chris’ shoulder one more time before standing, and was quickly replaced by Rebecca. She was wielding a syringe in one hand and first aid spray in the other, because of course she was. She had more brain in her than the rest of them combined, and that  _ included _ Claire. It was a good thing the Umbrella zombies didn’t discriminate their prey based on the contents of the skull.

“Hey, Beck,” Chris said. 

“Hey, Chris,” Rebecca replied softly, but she was grinning too, pixie cut falling over her face at a sharp angle, amplifying that mischievous glint she somehow always managed to carry in her eyes. It made her look even younger and more rebellious than she already was, not that she’d ever cared about trying to fit the mold when she already had a degree (with honors!) at the tender age of eighteen.

“I’m going to inject you with some medium-strength painkillers,” she said, “a bit stronger than most OTC stuff, but it’ll wear off soon enough. Not too soon, though.”

She was so sure of herself. Chris was proud of her for that; she’d always been headstrong, but it had been partially a cover for her hesitance back in the early days of her tenure at STARS. He couldn’t blame her, they’d all been there at one point, and being the youngest member of the team was an extra burden to carry. 

“Can I finally sleep, at least?” he asked, and Rebecca’s answering smile and nod felt like a saving grace, like he’d been told he was spared while waiting for the executioner’s blade. This, here, outside of Raccoon City, with people he loved and trusted, was also as safe as he was going to get for the foreseeable future, so. There was that.

This time, when he drifted off, he did not dream of Wesker, or blood, or shattered glass. Instead, he dreamt of a sunny warmth, all-encompassing and bright and soft, and he dreamt of cracked knuckles and calloused yet soft hands cupping his jaw, the back of his neck. He dreamt of those same hands intertwining with his own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which chris has a lot of feelings, still doesn't manage to answer his phone in due time, and is now a de facto father figure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for slapping an unexpected second chapter onto this work, but after writing this, it made more sense to add it to this work instead of pushing everything i had planned for part 3 back into yet another separate fic.  
> enjoy! c:

_1 new voicemail._

_1: October 1, 1998. 04:35._

_Chris, it’s Jill. I don’t know where you are or—I—_ Chris _. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. Raccoon City—it’s gone. All of it. I’m fine. I made it out. But—the others—I don’t know. I left Rebecca a voicemail, but I don’t know where Claire is. Everything is gone. I swear, Umbrella is fucking going down after this, if it’s the last thing I do. Call me if you’re okay._

* * *

Chris’ phone wasn’t what woke him up. No, had that been the case, there wouldn’t have _been_ a voicemail, because he would have fumbled around for his Nokia and dropped it—and it would have been fine, because that thing was built like a fucking brick—but he would have picked up on time, or at the very worst, just called back a moment later. Instead, he slept through the ringing, because whatever Rebecca had given him had knocked him out as effectively as a Nokia to the skull would have, and he slowly drifted back into consciousness at the late morning sun peeking through the windows of Rebecca’s apartment. 

He noticed that, for once, he was warm and comfortable, and he felt better after what must have been—he squinted at the window through half-closed eyes, eyelids heavy, blinded by the bright sun filtering in through the blinds, trying to gauge what time it was—five or six hours of sleep. The blinds themselves clacked softly against the windowsill, a soft breeze coming in from outside in the few inches that the window had been left open.

Chris let his head fall back against the pillow yet again, and all but curled up into the warmth offered by the bed. Lying on his side, one arm was folded under the pillow, above his head, and the other hung off the side of the bed, supported by something soft and warm and…it was unmistakably a hand, holding his own.

He forced his eyes open, suddenly aware of a warmth completely separate from that of the sunlight or the bed, spreading in his chest, an almost tight yet comfortable feeling. It was something he hadn’t felt much of in a long time, but it was also familiar in some intrinsic, fundamental way; the warmth supplied by human affection might as well have been coded into Chris’ DNA.

“Leon?” he croaked, barely audible.

The other man, curled up as comfortably as was possible in a borrowed desk chair, shifted. His head, leaning against the back of the chair, fell forward a bit, and the hand that wasn’t entangled with Chris’ own slipped away from one armrest. He caught himself before he could pitch forward, though, eyes fluttering open, and his gaze caught Chris’ own for a split second before flickering to their hands. Chris found himself smiling without even realizing it at the suite of varied expressions that passed over Leon’s face in that moment, but Leon was speaking before he could comment on it.

“Morning,” Leon said a little too late, evidently having willed himself to speak before the awkwardness of the situation caught up with him. Chris could see embarrassment written clearly all over his face in the pink tint to his cheeks and the slight upwards tilt of his lips and the crinkling around his eyes (almost, but not quite, masked by dark circles). 

Leon swallowed, and didn’t speak for a long moment, and Chris found himself worrying about things he was far too groggy to articulate, but he chose to take it as a good sign that Leon also didn’t drop his hand. 

Chris, trying to show some sort of understanding, squeezed Leon’s hand. Leon blinked. Chris’ resting heart rate could no longer be described as resting in any way. _Fuck_ , he was in too deep. Of all the times for him to have a gay awakening, it just _had_ to be when the apocalypse upended his entire life. On the other hand, though, the current state of things somehow made it less stressful, because what was one more revelation when everything Chris had thought he could be certain of was dead and gone?

“Did I miss anything?” Chris asked. Leon immediately looked at the floor, and there was some kind of restraint in his eyes when he looked back at Chris a moment later, squeezing his hand in return. 

“Yeah. Uh. Actually. You did.” He paused. Sighed. “You’re not going to like this, and I don’t want to be the one to break it to you.

At this, Leon stood, and maybe Chris was still out of it, or maybe he didn’t imagine Leon running a thumb over his cracked knuckles, looking somewhat reluctant as he dropped Chris’ hand.

“I’ll get the others,” he said, and then he was gone.

Chris found himself staring at nothing in particular, listening closely to Leon’s receding footsteps, followed by a door creaking. Muffled talking. Another door. More footsteps, coming back towards him. In this lapse of conversation, he pushed the covers off himself, and willed himself to stand, slowly but with far more strength than he’d carried at any point the previous day. He was still in pain, that was for sure, but whatever Rebecca had done to him had worked wonders. 

(The contents of that syringe had probably been developed by Umbrella, he knew, with as much certainty as he knew that the very heart of STARS had also, more or less, been developed by Umbrella. Had done development _on_ Umbrella, _for_ Umbrella. It was all a horrible circle of things, and even those of them with the best intentions couldn’t fully escape the vice grip of corporate power.)

Apparently, though, standing up was for nothing, because after briefly hugging him, Rebecca earnestly informed Chris that he “might want to take this one sitting down.”

Well, with his injuries, it wasn’t like he was going to complain.

The voicemail Rebecca played back for him, though, sent from Jill not long after he’d passed out, made him simultaneously feel two aggressively conflicting desires. Part of him wanted to lie down and close his eyes, melt into the nearest source of comfort he could find, and let panic and/or apathy overtake him until he became a puddle of nothingness. Part of him wanted to get up, though, and find whoever was responsible for this—that’d be a long and morally ambiguous hit list—and deck them into the next millennium.

Chris did not do either of these things. Instead, he buried his face in his hands, and he forced himself to take in shaky, jagged breaths, and he focused on the feeling of everything crashing down around him all at once. It was like watching a car crash—no, not even a car crash, an _airplane_ crash, a fucking _cargo ship_ , whatever—it was like watching every single fucking image of organized civilization crash and collide and go up in flames. He couldn’t look away from his own thoughts, and he might as well have watched the bomb hit Raccoon City, because he swore he could feel the rattling in his bones, he swore he could taste ash on the air coming in through the window Rebecca had left cracked open.

“What do we fucking do?” he asked after a long silence, even though he was already formulating a plan in his head—he just wanted the affirmation that would come with knowing the others’ goals moving forward. 

“We stick together,” Claire said, one hand on Sherry’s shoulder—oh, shit, he had cursed out loud and he hadn’t realized Sherry was in the room—“unless we have to split up.”

“Umbrella needs to go down,” Rebecca added, “and I know I’m going to keep working on vaccines.”

They all looked at Leon, and judging by the others’ faces, they had come to the same realization as Chris—Leon could still get out of this, if he really wanted. He’d be a dick to do so, after coming this far, but he could. Sherry wasn’t as attached to him as to Claire, and he’d literally been thrown into this on his first day of work. It was early on in his story.

Leon seemed to realize this too, and Chris felt a surge of pride (and was that relief?) at the way he barely hesitated to give his own plan: “I don’t have anything to go back to, and...this is the right thing to do. I’m staying with you.”

That did it for Chris. Something came over him, some sense of determination he couldn’t have pushed back even if he’d wanted to. He forced himself to stand, took a few staggering steps to close the distance between himself and Leon, and pulled the other man into a hug. Pain and fear bit at the back of his mind, whispered notes to himself that he’d fucked up with this, that he’d fucked up leaving Raccoon City, that he’d fucked up even _more_ coming back only to leave again. He could have done more. He could have -

It took Leon a moment to realize what Chris was doing, but no sooner than it had hit him, he was reciprocating, pulling Chris closer, wrapping him up in a hug that was painful to both of them for the injuries they’d suffered yet so much more than tolerable for the emotions behind it. Chris could tell both of them were being careful, and maybe not just because of their wounds, so he held on tightly for those precious few seconds until Leon pulled back.

He didn’t miss the way Leon’s hand—he’d ditched the ragged gloves, Chris noticed, but hadn’t gotten new ones yet—lingered between his neck and shoulder, but he didn’t get much of a chance to react as Sherry surged forward, throwing her arms around both of them. 

“Thank you for staying,” she said, trying to fit her arms around both of their waists. She was too short for it to have much of an effect, though, and a moment later Chris surprised all three of them by reaching down to pick her up. It came naturally, the same thing he’d done so many times for Claire when she’d been Sherry’s age, when it had just been the two of them with the fresh wounds of loss digging into their hearts. They’d spent too much of their childhoods without parents, without any guidance at all—Claire even more than Chris. He’d done his best, but he hoped now that Sherry wouldn’t have to live the same thing the two of them had, and if that meant being a de facto father figure to a kid he’d just met, he was willing. 

Sherry yelped as Chris swung her up and into his arms, but she was laughing, throwing her arms around his shoulders, grinning hard enough to make him smile too. Standing so close to Leon, he could see the other man’s face light up, and Claire and Rebecca looked noticeably less pained than they had a few moments before, both of them smiling as Rebecca pulled Claire into a hug. 

Chris might not be able to save the world, but he could make it a little bit better.

* * *

Chris found Jill’s voicemail to him later that morning, sitting alone on the borrowed bed trying to get some rest. It brought back the same pain, the same distress, the same _unease_ , in full force. He knew it, deep down—he _knew_ that what had happened was past, and that there was nothing he could have done to change things, and that it was for the best that he and the others had made it out of Raccoon City on time, but there was still part of him that wondered if he would have been able to stop the demolition of the city, given the chance. It was the kind of mission he would have been assigned as a member of STARS, after all...that is, if STARS had even been operating. When things had started to go downhill, according to Rebecca, the others had left or died. That... _thing_ that had been hunting Jill had been going after STARS members, so it was entirely possible he would have either died or caused the death of one of the others had he tried to stay around.

And anyways, Chris told himself, he’d still been in Europe. And he’d made _progress_ on his dual missions, the official one and the personal one—getting intel on Umbrella, and learning to feel less pained about what had happened in the Arklay Mountains that summer. There was just...so much more to cause him pain now, and to cause others pain too.

He couldn’t stop thinking, though, when it came to _everything_ that had happened since July, about what more he could have done. He was bothered by many of the things he had done—very few humans carried the mindset necessary to kill other humans, or those who had once been humans, without lasting psychological damage—but he didn’t feel that sort of guilt so much as he did the guilt that came with being one of the only survivors of a literal massacre.

He knew, rationally, that he was satisfied with the current outcome for himself and his companions, and that there was nothing he could do to go back and change things. That he probably _shouldn’t_ want to go back and change things, because the chances of a worse outcome had been astronomical. But even so, Chris was unable to stifle the flow of anxiety rising in his chest, boiling over in his throat, pulling and twisting at his lungs. He breathed deep nonetheless, and he tried to let the bad thoughts run their course, and when that didn’t work—they just looped infuriatingly in his head—he moved on to thinking about good things. Like the fact that all his friends—his _family_ —were safe, and Wesker was dead (it hurt to classify that as a good thing, but Chris couldn’t feel bad about it knowing how much everything he loved, and the world itself, were at risk with that man still kicking).

He didn’t keep track of how long he sat there like that, on the edge of the bed, not even bothering to lie down as the same thoughts continued to plague him, but at some point, he became aware of light footsteps coming into the room. 

Chris opened his eyes. Realized he was staring at the floor. Looked up to find the bed dipping next to him, Leon taking a seat at his side. He expected Leon to say something like _I’m sorry_ or _How are you holding up?_ or _I understand_ , any of which would have been appreciated (albeit somewhat superficial), but he was taken by surprise when the other man spoke.

“Rebecca told me about your supervisor. Wesker.” Leon’s voice was low, soft, hesitant. Not quite apologetic, in the same way that Chris was used to hearing—not with respect to the tragedy faced by STARS, which had mostly been kept under the radar, but frequently when it had come to his parents’ loss back in the day. Part of him had expected a facade of understanding, but Leon seemed aware of the gaps in both his knowledge and his empathy, so he just bowed his head and waited for Chris to respond instead of saying more. He was leaving it open for Chris to say as much—or as little—as he wanted, and Chris was grateful for that.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah,” he said after a long moment’s pause. 

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I feel like that wouldn’t come across the way I want it to right now. I...don’t really know what to say, other than that I can tell you wish things went differently, and I’ll tell you right now that you can’t live like that. For your own good.”

Well. Chris could see why Leon had graduated top of his class. He was quite perceptive, after all. Although, if Chris was reading this situation correctly, Leon was missing a few things that should have been rather obvious.

“You’re right,” he said, “it’s just...difficult. Getting around that roadblock in my mind.”

Leon leant back a bit, sighing. 

“I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through,” he replied, “but I have some idea of what you’re feeling, and I know you can move forward. You’re already doing it. Just...whatever you need, know that we’re all here for you. Claire especially. When we met, practically the first thing she said to me was that she was looking for you. Once she found you, she wanted to get the hell out of Raccoon City, so...two things. One, you weren’t alone in wanting to leave, and two, you aren’t alone now. Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.”

Chris couldn’t help the laugh that tugged at the corners of his lips and his eyes, working his whole face into a slight smile.

“Bold words, Kennedy,” he said. 

“You’re far from the first person to tell me that.”

Chris snorted, leaning back himself, turning sideways a bit to get a better look at Leon’s face. “I’m sure I’m far from the last, too.”

Leon rolled his eyes. “Undoubtedly. And hey—” he laid a hand on Chris’ shoulder, something blurring the line between casual and intimate so much that it made Chris’ lungs hesitate halfway through a breath “—we’re going to take down Umbrella.”

Chris was still doubting. His question, paranoid and rhetorical as it was, came easily: “We?”

“I’m in far too deep to leave in good conscience,” was Leon’s simple reply, accompanied by one hand pushing stray bangs behind his ear, revealing a slightly abashed smirk. “And besides, if I’m going to be neck deep in the apocalypse, I think I’ve found some pretty good people to ride it out with.”

Chris was blushing. He was fucking _blushing_ like a goddamn teenager, and his heart was racing too, although that could have also had something to do with the cocktail of medicine working its way through his bloodstream as he began to recover from the beating he’d taken getting out of Raccoon City. But he was 25, he wasn’t a fucking _kid_ , he was _mature_ and _responsible_. 

“Likewise,” he said, uncomfortably aware of the way his voice cracked from all the emotions barraging him right now.

Leon smiled. Squeezed his shoulder. 

“I’m glad we found each other,” he said, and Chris wasn’t sure if he meant the group as a whole, or just the two of them. He wasn’t sure which he _wanted_ it to mean—maybe both, if he was being honest.

“I am too,” Chris replied, and he pulled Leon into a hug. 

When the moment ended, it felt almost too soon, and when Leon left the room, Chris felt like he was missing something. Even the warmth of the afternoon sunlight and the bed he finally let himself settle into wasn’t enough to replace whatever it was he’d lost, and it wasn’t even like he felt incomplete. No, he was complete on his own, but it felt like he’d found something—some _one_ —with whom he could fit together to form a beautifully matching pair, and that was easy to miss once he knew it existed, once he knew he could have it but he _didn’t_.

He still slept a little better than before, though.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
